coming upon home.

like a white noise secret.

like sun dancing in peripherals, making eyes shake and horizons flail,
home is a pentatonic syllable:
a tangent ripping through the straightest line.

a call and repsonse and a flickering-flame heartbeat in a quiet hour.

home blows a breeze through my nylon eyelashes,
dips my spine in a warm salt bath.

home is a silken cord, a radiant octave, and all the white keys 
to the dark, wayward finger drums.

home base.

how large is home, in a full-moon sky? 
if you told me, I could find my way to you. 

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